Locked out of Heaven
by Johnlock Addict
Summary: Sherlock Holmes is absolutely smitten... it's just a shame that the object of his affections had to be his older brother's wife. Sherlock knows about Mary, and tries to prevent the inevitable by acting on his gut instincts from the beginning. Mycroft/OC, Sherlock/OC, John/Mary. Please Review!
1. Introduction

John Watson did not consider himself particularly knowledgeable when it came to love. He did, however, learn a thing or two about perception in his many years teaming with his best friend, the World's Only Consulting Detective, Sherlock Holmes. And it was clear as day that Sherlock was positively smitten...

It's just a shame that it had to be with his older brother's wife.

* * *

><p>When John Watson entered 221B Baker Street, arms overflowing with groceries (and other various sundries that Sherlock had <em>insisted <em>that he purchase - including three bottles of iodine, which had earned him quite a few sideways glances), the last thing that he expected to hear was _laughter_. But as he propped the door open with his rump, easing the bags in one-by-one, the undeniably sweet, caramelized notes of distinctly feminine laughter grew ever louder.

He slipped inside and closed the door behind him, before starting to remove his coat. Now, the laughter was joined by a cacophony of other sounds - the sound of Mrs. Hudson merrily blabbering on about everything and nothing, the subtle scrape of the metal tea kettle against the porcelain tea cup, and the clang of the spatula against the cookie sheet. Could Mrs. Hudson have company? She must have friends besides Sherlock and himself, right?

That laughter returned - thick and syrupy and sweet. It was an eerily foreign sound to John, and he couldn't help but recall all the unfamiliar faces that they had come to regret trusting. Nonetheless, if she'd desired to hurt Mrs. Hudson, wouldn't she have done so already? He began to move toward the kitchen, thick, heavy footfalls disturbing the lightheartedness of the room. The laughter paused, and he couldn't help but feel as if he was intruding. Soon, though, it didn't matter.

John found himself standing in the archway of the kitchen, watching as Mrs. Hudson fixed another round of tea for herself and her guest. Looking up, she offered John a sweet smile. "Ah, John. I wasn't expecting you home so soon." She turned to her guest, "I was just entertaining Mrs. Holmes, here - she's here about the wedding."

"She is?" John was visibly confused. Sherlock had mentioned contacting someone about the wedding, but never once hinted that they were in anyway _related_. "Oh, I'm sorry, where are my manners?" He extended his hand to her, offering a small smile. "I'm Doctor John Watson, it's a pleasure to meet you."

The mysterious Mrs. Holmes rose to her feet, standing a full inch-and-a-half taller than John Watson. "The name's Alice Holmes... and the pleasure is mine."

"Please excuse me if this seems frank, but..." John couldn't help but see the handsome rock that lay upon her finger. "Sherlock doesn't seem like the marrying kind. I mean, I know that a lot can happen in two years... and we're still attempting to conquer some major trust-issues... but I'd like to think he would have told me this."

Alice smiled understandingly. "No need to worry, Mr. Watson." She offered him a brilliant smile. "That would be Mrs. _Mycroft_ Holmes."

John blinked slowly, soaking her words in. And then, "To be honest, he doesn't seem to be the marrying kind either."

That beautiful, rich caramel laughter returned. John could feel heat staining his cheeks. "Oh, he's not. Strictly a political affair. An utterly loveless affair. Nothing you'd read about in a Nicholas Sparks novel, at least." Her smile was a bit more subdued this time. "But enough about me. This is _your_ wedding, after all."

"Yes, um..." He looked her over. "Would you mind... coming upstairs? My fiancé and I would love to meet with you... Sherlock has nothing but praise for you."

Alice raised an eyebrow. "That's an incredible accolade, coming from such a stuffy man." Her tone was teasing, and her eyes were dancing. "Sherlock and I go back quite a ways. In fact, I usually don't do professional performances anymore... but Sherlock demanded only the best for his very best friend." That smile returned.

Retrieving her tea cup from the table, she thanked Mrs. Hudson with a kind smile and subtle bow of the head, before following John upstairs. Once they entered the flat, John motioned for her to take a seat near the fireplace. He then vanished down the hall, intending to find his fiancé and introduce her to their new organist. Alice lazily sipped at her tea - a sweet mixture of black chair and milk and honey - while she waited for his return.

When he finally returned with Mary in tow, Alice set her cup aside and rose to her feet, brushing invisible lint from her white lace dress. She crossed the distance between them, considerably less amiable then she had been in first introducing herself to John. The tension between them was palpable - two women with a secret, both a little too keen on the disguise that the other was wearing. Extending her hand, Mary took it quickly and they shook.

Love. Warmth. Motherly. Caring. Charming. Devoted. Nurse. Liar. _Liar. LIAR._

"My husband always said that a handshake can tell a lot about a person." Alice smiled. "It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Ms. Morstan. Sherlock has told me _so much_ about you."


	2. Chapter One

Mary, much to her credit, never missed a beat. "Only good things, I hope."

"Oh, of course." Alice brushed a stray blonde curl behind her ear. "I'm Mrs. Holmes, by the way - _Mycroft_ Holmes." She added quickly, attempting to avoid another bout of confusion. "Sherlock and I had been in contact because he understood you would be needing a supply organist for your wedding?"

The other woman wore a look of innocent confusion as she said, "Well, yes, we _do_ need an organist." And then, to John, "How did Sherlock find out that we needed an organist, when Tomas only phoned this morning? I didn't say a word... did you?" The ex-army doctor shook his head. "Hmm..."

But Alice was quick to placate her. "I was merely a last resort, should Tomas fall sick or become injured." She assured. "Sherlock asked that I meet with the two of you and introduce myself. I had agreed to meet with him over tea while we waited for you to return, Mr. Watson... but, as circumstances unfolded, well..."

John raised a hand. "No need to explain." Because, really, who better to understand the dynamics of Sherlock's persona than his former flat-mate.

"I'm glad that you understand." Then, reaching into her satchel, she removed a manila folder. "Now then, to business. I've brought my resume for you to look over..."

The nurse shook her head. "You really don't need to show us your resume, Mrs. Holmes. If you come recommended by Sherlock -,"

Alice cut her off. "No, I insist. Every woman deserves a wedding with all of the pomp and circumstance she can handle. I want to make sure that my particular skillset is _exactly_ what you desire for your special day." She handed them the file. "And please, call me _Alice_."

After several seconds worth of hesitation, Mary finally took the manila folder and made her way over to the settee, John following close behind. Alice, not wanting to be an imposing figure over the couple, circled around in front of the fireplace, angling her lithe body in such a way that she had a perfect view of the bustling city streets below. The couple was mumbling between them, absently flipping through the pages of her rather impressive resume.

Taking her tea cup in one hand, she brought it to her lips - while she was drinking, her eyes fluttered madly over the room. Shadows danced across the room, concealing the corners in an array of darkness. The wall-to-wall furniture gave the sitting area an almost claustrophobic feel, but it also gave plenty of room for one to conceal something without worry that it would be detected. Her eyes fell on the second to last shelf on the bookcase - _perfect_.

It all happened very quickly after that. Stumbling forward, she all-but-threw her almost-empty tea cup onto the ground. The subsequent _clank_ as it connected with the wooden planks and promptly shattered was enough to draw John and Mary's attention away from the resume momentarily. Quickly dropping to her knees, she removed a somewhat misshapen bobby pin from her hair and attached it to the bottom of the shelf with gum. And then -

"I'm such a klutz," there was that golden, caramelized laughter again. Rising to her feet, she offered the pair a sheepish smile. "Do you have a broom?"

"Oh, yeah, it's right in the closet - you really don't have to clean that up yourself, I can take care of it." John told her, rising up off of the settee.

She shook her head, blonde curls tumbling over her thin shoulders. "Really, it's fine. I'm not in the habit of making habits and leaving them for my hosts to clean up. That would be rather poor manners, don't you think?" Her smile was a little stronger this time. "You said it was in this closet over here?"

"Yeah." John nodded. The cushion of the settee sank beneath his weight as he sat back down, Mary interlocking her arm with his.

Alice nodded her thanks, before disappearing around the corner. Once she was out of their line of sight, she pulled out her cell phone and quickly located a familiar number. Casting one last reassuring glance over her shoulder, she selected that number and began to type. If her estimations were correct, the feed from the bug that she had placed would be reaching Sherlock's phone in approximately fifteen seconds.

Bug in place. ACTIVATED. - AH

It was several moments before she received a reply.

RECIEVED. - SH

Pocketing her phone, she turned around and opened the closet. Just as she had suspected, it was just as disorganized as the rest of the flat. Nonetheless, she was able to locate the broom fairly quickly (and a sponge, just for good measure). Quickly making her way back into the sitting room, she brushed the shards aside and did her best to soak up the splattered tea. She made a mental note to find a box for the shards - and to apologize to Mrs. Hudson for breaking her China.

"I'm so sorry, again." She said, making her way into the kitchen and dropping the sponge into the sink. Upon returning, she offered, "I should hope that you both have had ample time to look over my qualifications. Are they satisfactory?"

"More than." Mary laughed - but it was stiff and lacking any sustenance. "In fact, you might be _overqualified. _I'm _more_ than humbled by the idea of having an organist who has played for the Queen."

Alice brushed it off, however. "Like I said to Mr. Watson earlier, I rarely do professional performances anymore. Married life does take its toll, I'm afraid." Here, she whispered, "Mycroft believes it's all a giant security loophole." And then, "I'm simply offering you my services for free, on Sherlock's good word."

"Well, thank you." This time, John actually _did_ rise. He shook her hand firmly. "I believe we're both in agreement when I say that: you've got the job."

Alice smirked. "Thank you so much for your trust. I can guarantee that you _won't_ be disappointed."

* * *

><p>She sailed down the stairs, taking them two at a time, anxious to put some distance between herself and the flat. On her way out the door, she grabbed her clutch from the kitchen. With a <em>snap<em>, the clutch opened, and she pulled out her Bluetooth. Already synced with the frequency of the bug in Sherlock's flat, as soon as it powered-up, she would have a direct-feed of everything that went on in there. Hooking it over her right ear, she turned it on and promptly covered it with her hair.

A quick glance at her watch, and then she was out the door. Mere seconds after exiting 221B Baker Street, she was able to hail a cab. The driver, in his haste, popped one wheel over the curb as he pulled up to allow her inside. Casting one last glance over her shoulder at the upstairs window, she opened the door and slid inside. Before the door was even closed, the cabbie was speeding away.

"Do you have the suitcase?" She asked, not even bothering to confirm the identity of the driver.

The cabbie promptly turned over the suitcase. It was made of expensive black leather, with a worn, tattered handle and a single silver-toned latch. Set in the latch was an electronic keypad, and she punched in the code to access the contents. The cabbie, watching through the rearview mirror, asked, "Do they suspect?"

As soon as the suitcase was open, Alice removed her lace-front wig and dropped it onto her lap. "I don't anticipate any trouble from John, but Mary... She's caught my interest." Pulling out her wig cap, she carefully slipped the wig inside. "You've definitely caught on to something, Sherlock. Something simply isn't right."

"Do you have any reason to believe that she will hurt John?" The cabbie started to remove his disguise, finally showing his true persona.

"If she wanted to hurt him, or anyone else for that matter, she's certainly had opportunity. She's with him seventy-five percent of the time, and has medical background as a nurse. Potentially, she has the ability to kill and make it look like an accident. But she hasn't." Alice said. "No, I don't think she'll hurt him."

Peering into the rearview mirror, Sherlock offered, "You look better as a brunette."

"Aww, thank you." She fluffed out her lazy chocolate waves, before tucking the wig cap into the suitcase. "I think so too."

Rifling through the contents of the suitcase, she was quickly able to locate her contact lens case. The brown-tinted lenses popped out easily and she messily filled each well halfway with solution, before closing the case and placing both items back into the suitcase. Blue eyes now met gray in the rearview mirror, and she flashed him a bright smile. The low drone of the Bluetooth in her ear continued to give her a constant feed of what was happening back at the flat.

She slipped off her 'wedding' ring and placed it in the appropriate compartment, taking her _real_ set out and slipping it on. "So, I have the job. But next time you _subtly_ imply that the organist should take a two month sojourn to Costa Rica... make sure that he doesn't call the morning you send his replacement in."

Sherlock pursed his lips. "I had been explicit in my directions to cut off all contact with her. That will have to be dealt with."

"And, speaking of the original organist..." she handed him a file folder. "I will need you to conduct interviews with the entire wedding party and all guests invited by Mary. A set of generic, inconspicuous questions has been provided for you." She said. "Since the wedding is less than a month away, I'll need this by next week."

Pulling up in front of a nondescript white house, which sat apart from the others on the street, Sherlock cut the engine. "Inconspicuous by Mycroft's standards?"

"Very funny." She offered him a playful pout. "They're called _trigger questions_. The answers are so blatantly obvious that anything out of the ordinary will raise _major_ red flags."

Finally, she tucked her clutch away, before sealing the suitcase. "That's approximately sixty people, you realize."

She patted his cheek condescendingly. "I'm sure that you can manage." Leaning forward, she pressed a kiss to his cheek. Her lipstick, still fresh from her earlier application, left a soft red smear on his cheek. "Goodbye, Sherlock."

She slipped out of the cabbie, taking her suitcase along with her. Within seconds of exiting the vehicle, she had her phone in hand, and was anxiously chatting away with someone on the other end. Sherlock's eyes followed her every movement until she made it to her front door and vanished inside. Within seconds, the lights flipped on and she was waving to him from the window. Not bothering to wave back, he simply drove away.

* * *

><p>"Mycroft, darling," Alice approached her husband's desk, a warm smile on her face. Mycroft leaned back in his office chair and steepled his fingers expectantly - she had, after all, been gone for the majority of the day without the slightest hint as to her intentions. "I have a request."<p>

He raised an eyebrow, intrigued. Taking the initiative, Alice closed the last of the distance between them, before hopping up onto Mycroft's desk and making herself comfortable amidst the various stacks of paperwork. Her lace-clad frame, while certainly adding a considerable measure of decoration to the area, seemed distinctly out of place in the stuffy environment that was Mycroft's home office.

They stared at one another for several moments. And then, his eyes dropped - they fell on her ring finger, taking in the marks that hinted that she had removed and replaced her wedding bands on more than one occasion - before they rose - the fading hint of red on her forehead hinted at a lace-front wig that had recently been removed - until they finally met her eyes once more.

"What have you been up to?" Mycroft asked, honestly not expecting an answer.

"I need you to find out everything there is to know about her." And that was it. Nothing more. With that being said, she handed over the manila folder. On the tab, a name had already been written: **MORSTAN, MARY.**


	3. Chapter Two

Sherlock returned to 221B Baker Street about a half-hour later. He'd driven the cab around for about ten minutes, crisscrossing paths and effectively mudding his trail on the off-chance that he was being followed. Afterword, he'd abandoned the cab illegally a little ways off from Scotland Yard - the poor cabbie that was _actually_ responsible for it would undoubtedly have fun attempting to explain away _that_ fee.

When he entered the flat, he first noticed Mary. His best friend's bride-to-be sat at the table, looking over the preliminary seating arrangements for the wedding. John was weaving his way in-and-out of the sitting room, putting away the groceries that he had purchased earlier. The ex-military doctor was the first to notice his friend, and after a moment, he paused - Sherlock could tell he had many unanswered questions.

"You didn't tell me that you had a sister-in-law." John said pointedly. And while he realized that there was much about Sherlock that he didn't yet know, he figured that _this_ would have been something he would have at least mentioned in passing.

"Yes, well... Our relationship isn't necessarily conventional." Sherlock offered nonchalantly. "We attended University together - she fancied Sebastian Wilkes, and Mycroft fancied her. Sebastian and his cronies, well..." if John wasn't mistaken, Sherlock actually looked _uncomfortable_.

There was a lot that Sherlock had yet to confront about Alice Holmes, many demons in the closet that he had locked away because that was easier... that was safe. When it came down to it, there were many reasons why he'd never told John about Alice. Most prevalent: it simply wasn't his story to tell. He'd carry his disgust for Sebastian Wilkes with him forever, but until Alice was ready, he'd never utter a word - and Wilkes would keep his life.

He returned with a stiff, "I was the one who encouraged their union, and they married less than one month later. They've been married for seven and a half years. No children as of yet, but they _do_ have a dog - a Brussels Griffon named Sparrow." Taking a breath, he finished with, "Anything else you'd like to know?"

John opened his mouth, but Mary cut him off. "Oh, leave him alone, John! I'm sure he had a perfectly good reason for never bringing her up." Mary offered Sherlock a small smile, before patting the seat beside her. "Now, come here and tell me what you think of this seating arrangement."

But John wasn't about to let it slide. "It's just... I... I... She's so _normal_." He said, exasperated. "Really, she's _too_ normal."

Sherlock could barely contain a smirk. "I do believe she would be quite insulted to learn that she was being referred to as _normal_."

"Her resume is absolutely brilliant, Sherlock." Mary smiled, before handing over the manila folder with the seating chart. "I wanted to thank you for sending her our way. It was perfect timing, too. Tomas just phoned -,"

Sherlock cut her off. "He phoned in ill, I presume?"

"Why, yes." She blinked, slightly taken aback. "How did you know that?"

"It's only logical, considering how thankful you are for my taking the time to find a supply organist." Sherlock said matter-of-factly. "You're a little light on guests, Mary. You'll need to invite more people in order to balance out the reception." He made a mental note of every name in his Mind Palace.

"Oh, I know." Mary gently brushed him off, seemingly unconcerned. Rising off of the settee, she made her way into the kitchen, retrieving her cup of tea. Returning, she continued, "I'm an orphan, you know. All I have to invite are a few close friends." Her bright smile belied her sad words.

Obtaining the phone numbers of these 'close friends' wouldn't be terribly difficult. As the best man, he would be entrusted with the telephone numbers of everyone in the wedding party to ensure that they understood their duties and would be able to perform them to the highest standard possible. From what he had recently learned about the position, he was a giant micromanager for the entire ceremony and reception... he'd just have to channel his inner-Mycroft.

On the list of names, however, one stood out. There was only name listed: Janine. Interestingly enough, this name coincided with the first-name of the PA of one Charles Augustus Magnusson, the Napoleon of Blackmail. From what he understood based off of Mary's somewhat complicated diagram, not only was this 'Janine' a part of the wedding party... she was the Maid of Honor. Sherlock immediately handed the folder back to Mary.

"I think it best if we all have an opportunity to get to know each other better." Sherlock announced suddenly, seeming almost _excited_ by the idea. "I propose that we all have brunch tomorrow afternoon. That will be a perfect opportunity for you to ask her anything you wish to know."

Mary placed a hand on his shoulder, smiling, "I think that that sounds like a marvelous idea - don't you, John?"

"Are you actually planning on making an appearance this time?" John retorted smartly.

Sherlock ignored that last comment, which was probably for the better. "It is official, then. I will be in contact with Alice to ensure that all of the preparations are in place." A pause, "Oh, and if you wish, you can bring the music for her to review as well."

John, apparently still hot over being stood up earlier, stormed off into the kitchen to continue to put the groceries away. This left Mary and Sherlock alone, and so Mary made the agreement for her husband-to-be. "It sounds like a date."

* * *

><p>Alice sat at the bench in front of her vanity, legs crossed Indian-style beneath her. Dressed in a royal blue nightgown, which complimented the rich, caramel tan of her skin, and a plush white bathrobe, she looked every bit ready for bed. Mycroft stood a little ways behind her, studying their reflections in the mirror. Finally, brushing her dark chocolate locks aside, he undid the chain from around her neck and placed it into the nearby jewelery box.<p>

Meeting her eyes in the mirror, he finally decided to address the question that had been plaguing his mind over the last few hours. "Why did you take your ring off?"

Alice blinked, before looking down at the handsome 3.5 karat diamond wedding set that sat on her ring finger. It was almost as if she didn't realize she had taken it off at all... that, or she didn't remember. Finally, realization dawned. "_Oh,_ that." She waved him off rather unceremoniously. "It's nothing to worry about."

"Are you stepping out on me?" There - now everything was out in the open. An awkward and uncomfortable silence followed.

"What?" The very idea was deeply unsettling to her, and it was visible in the troubled expression on her face. "Why would you think such a thing?"

"It really isn't such a radical way of thinking." Mycroft informed her matter-of-factly. "You've entered into a routine of leaving and returning at a set time, but give no indication of where you were or who you were with. The marks on your ring finger clearly indicate you've been taking your wedding set on and off..."

Turning back, Alice leaned back and, touching Mycroft's cheek, brought him down to her level. She brushed her lips over the soft stubble that graced Mycroft's cheek, leaving a similar mark to the one she had left on Sherlock's. "What reason would I have to cheat when I have a wonderful husband like you?"

"You flatter me." If she wasn't mistaken, she would've referred to his tone as _teasing_.

"Have I said anything that isn't true?" Alice turned back, and finished taking off her makeup.

Their eyes met in the mirror once more. After several tense moments, Mycroft was the first to break away. He wandered off to the en-suite bathroom and closed the door behind him, leaving Alice to her own devices. The brunette continued to lounge on her vanity bench, staring at her reflection in the mirror. She'd had so many faces in her life time, so many names... It seemed so strange to truly take in her own reflection for a change.

When Mycroft returned, he was in a pair of loose-fitting blue-striped pajama bottoms and a plain white t-shirt. Upon noticing that Alice was still seated at the bench, however, he frowned. "Something is bothering you. I can tell." There was that matter-of-fact, listless tone again. "Please, don't hide it from me."

Alice forced a smile, absently running a finger over where her necklace had once been. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"You know that I can tell when you are lying." Mycroft told her, brushing the brown waves away from her shoulder.

"What reason would I have to lie to you?" Alice asked. She made it sound so simple, as if his fears were ludicrous.

"I don't know. That's why I am asking." Mycroft informed her. But, realizing that he would not be able to get the information out of his wife, he decided to switch tactics. "But enough of this. Relax and come to bed."

Now, Alice _truly_ smirked. In a teasing tone, she offered her rebuttal. "Trying to get me out of my nightgown, there, my love?"

Mycroft took her hand and helped her down off of the vanity bench. She continued to hold his hand until she made it to the foot of the bed, at which time she plopped down face-first onto the mattress. Mycroft watched as the nightgown bunched around his wife's legs, revealing miles of healthy caramel skin. "Not tonight."

He climbed into bed beside her, watching as she pulled the blankets up over her body. He could tell that something was bothering her, that something was on her mind. However, she refused to open her mouth and tell him about it. He figured that it would come in due time, but then, he'd been waiting seven years for her to confess. He didn't know why he was expecting so much to change on such short notice.

Taking out her book, _Interview with the Vampire_, she settled down and placed her head upon Mycroft's chest. The British Government placed his left hand on her head and worked his fingers through her gentle chocolate waves, watching as she cracked the spine and opened to her place. He had work tomorrow and had every intention of waking up early, so he would nod off first. Undoubtedly, Alice would follow around two o' clock in the morning.

"Goodnight." Mycroft whispered to his love, kissing her forehead softly.

Alice offered him a small smile, before moving a tad closer and whispering, "Goodnight" in return.


	4. Chapter Three

The next morning, Sherlock arrived at his brother's doorstep, a bouquet of red roses in one hand and a small jewelry box in the other. He'd known Alice for many years, and she had taught him much about the seemingly nonexistent connections between the heart and the mind. She'd been there for him through everything - the addiction, the recovery... she'd even offered him a room in the mansion to stay in while he was in a transitionary period, unbeknownst to Mycroft. He felt as if he... owed her something. And he had a feeling that she would like the gifts he had bought her.

He knocked on the door once, waited. Then, he knocked again. There was a shuffling sound, like bare feet - no, socks - like socks sliding on hardwood floor. Before he could consider this further, however, the door swung open and Sherlock was assaulted with a breath of warm air and the sweet scent of cinnamon. Alice was making her infamous muffins, then. Saliva flooded his mouth and he swallowed hard, pretending to appear nervous. The maid, a considerate woman of fifty or so years, regarded him in her compassionate, moderately condescending way.

"Good morning, Mrs. Humphrey." He put on his best grin, hoping to appear more disarming than dubious. "I'm here for Mrs. Mycroft Holmes. Is she in?" Her look morphed into one of distinct interest - the twinkle in her eye and the curve of her lip betrayed her, the old gossip.

"Why yes, Mrs. Holmes is in. It's only eight o' clock in the morning. Poor thing was barely out of bed come seven-thirty!" She tucked a strand of graying hair behind her ear. "Came downstairs to start the breakfast - muffins, she said - then disappeared back into her room."

Ah, so _that_ explained the undeniable scent of cinnamon swirling through the first-floor. Sherlock cocked his head to the side, "Is she feeling quite alright?" He could not hide the note of real concern that bled into his voice.

"Yes, I believe so. She hasn't complained, if that's what you mean." Mrs. Humphrey almost seemed affronted by the idea.

Sherlock raised his hand innocently. "I did not mean to make such accusations, ma'am. I'm just concerned for my dear sister-in-law."

That mysterious glint returned to Mrs. Humphrey's eyes, and Sherlock couldn't help but wonder if she knew more than she let on. Finally, she whispered, "I'm not supposed to be telling you this, but..." she looked around, "...there's been some trouble in paradise."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "Oh?" He had not heard about this.

The old woman sighed. Beckoning the taller man inside, she shut the door, trapping the heat inside of the house once more. "This goes no further, or it could be my head, but..." she looked around once more, seeming all the more nervous, "...I've seen her with a man."

"A _man_?" Sherlock choked. Quickly, he corrected himself, "I'm sure it was nothing, Mrs. Humphrey. A business arrangement, perhaps?"

"She kissed him, sir. I do not see the elder Mr. Holmes kissing the women that walk through his office with 'business arrangements'."

As if summoned by the sound of his name, Mycroft took it upon himself to come downstairs mere seconds after Mrs. Humphrey's made her damning declaration. He was dressed to the nines in a finely tailored suit - black pinstripes, it seemed, with a handsome crimson tie and a neatly pressed white button-down shirt. The man looked perfectly pristine, aside from a few wisps of still-wet hair that dangled messily in front of his face. The skin of his chin gleamed, slightly wet, and Sherlock deduced that his brother had recently finished a shower and a shave. After several seconds, their eyes met. Mycroft smirked.

"And to what do I owe the pleasure of a visit from my dear baby brother?" Mrs. Humphrey politely excused herself to attend to the muffins.

"Actually, I am here for your wife." He inclined his head toward the kitchen at the receding form of the maid. "I understand that she is not well?"

Mycroft frowned. "Alice is quite well... she is upstairs, showering in the master suite. You're more than welcome to wait for her in there." And then, Mycroft took in the gifts that Sherlock had brought for Alice. Smirking, he said, "I should hope that you're not attempting to woo her from me, baby brother."

Sherlock's eyes glinted mischievously. "I have never seen two people more perfect for one another. Honestly. I never imagined that a woman would come around that could re-shape you into less of an ass." He forced out a tight, clipped chuckle. "These are merely... thank-yous, that is all."

But Mycroft was already moving on, not bothering to listen to his brother's explanation. "Like I said, you can wait upstairs. Make yourself at home."

* * *

><p>"Mikey, my love, is that you?" A sweet, syrup-thick voice floated out of the bathroom and into the bedroom where Sherlock waited.<p>

Sherlock swallowed hard. The door to the bathroom was open, allowing the steam from the shower to pour out into the bedroom before it dissipated. It smelled of coconut, cinnamon, and something distinctly... _Alice_. Clearing his throat, he answered, "No, it's Sherlock."

Laughter trickled out of the bathroom and it made him flush. "Ah, Sherlock, my sweet. Even better!" More laughter, "Be a dear and come hand me my shampoo." A few moments of silence, then, "Come now, don't be shy. I promise I won't bite..."

Biting was the least of Sherlock's current concerns. Ranked at the top was Mycroft returning to the bedroom to find his little brother in the bathroom with his wife. The chances were near seventy-seven percent, considering that Mycroft had yet to gel his hair. There was also a fifty-three percent chance that his body would betray him under the flimsy shield of the steam and the luscious, intoxicating mixture of aromas. But he entered into the battle zone anyhow. He couldn't very well disappoint her, now could he? Nobody disappointed the gorgeous Alice Holmes and lived to tell the tale.

He entered inside, bare feet connecting with cool tile - he'd abandoned his shoes downstairs - skin prickling as the steam danced over his limbs. The bottle of shampoo was easy enough to locate. It was tall and thin, purple with thick ridges going down either side. The scent was acacia berry. Grabbing it with a shaky hand, he took off the protective plastic wrap, before warily pressing it toward the translucent white curtain. And then, all of a sudden, the curtain pulled aside and a long, thin, dripping arm snuck out, snatched the bottle, and quickly disappeared. Laughter quickly followed.

"You look as if you've just seen a ghost, my sweet. Tell me - did I give you a fright?" She chuckled.

For the first time, Sherlock's eloquent tongue was failing him. He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, before offering, "No... I just... I didn't..." He swallowed hard, silently cursing the way that she could make him so tongue-tied, like a foolish secondary school boy. "Mycroft could come by at any moment."

She poked her head out, brown locks glistening with freshly-applied shampoo. "Are you worried that he'll see us together?"

Sherlock was looking around nervously, trying to ensure that nothing was out of place. "Mycroft is incredibly observant. Sometimes... _too_ observant."

"You act as if we have something to hide." She teased. She did not realize that Sherlock _did_, in fact, have something to hide. Something _huge_.

Instead of pursuing that dangerous thread any further, he chose to pursue something a little bit different. "I came to ask something of you." She hummed to show that she was listening. "Would you come with me to brunch? It would be a double, of sorts. John and Mary will be there, also. In fact, that's why you have to come."

Her shadow shifted along the curtain, and Sherlock found his eyes following her every movement. She was rinsing the lather out of her hair now. "Oh, that sounds fun. You always were a fantastic date." He could almost _see_ her smirk. Sarcasm, it was a beautiful thing. "Alright. I'll do it."

"I didn't honestly expect you to say no." Sherlock bit back, returning the sarcasm two-fold. "I also didn't expect to ask you in the bathroom."

"Yes, well, life is full of surprises." There was that laughter again. "Be a sweet and hand me that towel, hmm?" Her hand poked out again as the water cut off, and he stuffed the towel into it. "You've given me such a task - I'll have to decide what to wear... Why don't you be a sweet and pick something for me?"

She stepped out of the shower, towel wrapped around her, and Sherlock was thankful for the steam. Alice had always been the only woman capable of making him blush. It was her delicate sexuality, he supposed. Unlike The Woman, Alice wasn't forward with the way that she used her body to her advantage. She didn't strut around her flat, naked, in order to manipulate men to do her will. She simply asked for her brother-in-law to bring her the shampoo in the bathroom. A sweet, innocent request, that would be his undoing. What made it worse? Alice hadn't a clue what she was doing to him.

They made their way back into the bedroom and Alice meandered over to her bureau. Sherlock watched her for only a moment, reveling in the way the murky water droplets cascaded down her neck, over her strong shoulder blades, and eventually met their end in the fluffy white towel. She started to pull underclothes out of the drawers and toss them onto the bed, and that's when Sherlock turned away. Turning his attention to her closet, it took him a moment to find her cocktail dresses. His brother certainly spared no expense when it came to spoiling his precious, perfect wife.

The dress that he chose was a handsome number, circa 2013. It was sleeveless, with a deep V-neck that went almost the full length of the sternum. The breast of the dress was black with white detail work, with a black spine leading down the white body of the dress. Sherlock had no doubt that it would look beautiful stretched across that healthy, caramel skin. He had no doubt that his little 'gift' would go well with it, also. To top it off, he grabbed a pair of silver two-and-a-half inch heels. They complimented the dress well, and would elongate her legs just enough to perhaps catch John's attention...

"Oh, my sweet, are these for me?" She had the flowers and was smelling them, a wistful and appreciative look on her face.

"Yes, as is the box." She grabbed it and opened the box, gasping at the one-karat diamond studs, with drop-down black spinel accents. And, as she looked closer, there was a speaker buried in the cluster of black spinel. "Wired earrings. For today's brunch."

"Oh, Sherlock, you shouldn't have." She smiled. As much as he hated to admit it - he missed 'my sweet'.

"I'll just... leave you to dress, then." Her nude underwear-set was making him nervous, even as she gave the dress he had selected an approving eye. "I'll be back in three hours for our date, then."

She nodded, slowly unzipping the back of the dress. "We have a date."


	5. Chapter Four

When Sherlock came calling again three hours later, he was just in time to see the couple exchange a chaste kiss through the picture window in the dining room. When they drew back, Alice had that bright, unadulterated smile on her face. The kind that made the person receiving it feel as if they were the most important person in the world. He saw a slight tension in their arms as their interlocked hands squeezed comfortingly, and then she was out the door and headed toward the cab. Sherlock, ever the gentleman, held the door open for her and helped her inside.

"You're too kind to me, my sweet." She sat down in the corner, slouched only slightly. "The flowers you bought are absolutely lovely. I had Mrs. Humphrey put them in a vase on my bureau. The sunlight catches the petals so perfectly there." She smiled wistfully.

Sherlock, momentarily at a loss for words, took that opportunity to reach for the briefcase. It would be best not to waste valuable time, after all. The café was only about fifteen minutes away. "I've brought your things."

Her eyes looked sad and her smile fell as she beheld the proffered briefcase. "So anxious to see the pitiful Alice Holmes departed, hmm?"

His chest constricted painfully and he forced out a quick, "No! Never!"

Alice was not convinced. "No need to attempt to soothe over old wounds with gentle lies, my sweet. I can take a hint." She opened the briefcase and took out the blonde wig. "So many memories... preciously brutal memories..."

"I never said that you had to be a blonde, Alice." Sherlock said. He knew the memory that the wig had summoned, and wanted to bury it deep.

She shook her head, before lowering the wig back down. Slowly, she began to pin up her hair with shaky hands. "Oh, but if I was not blonde, I wouldn't be _Alice. _I wouldn't be the _clumsy_, _bumbling Alice_ that your mother so _despised_."

A tense silence filled the car. Alice seemed to have come-to, and, having realized what she had admitted to, was now closing in on herself. It wasn't as if it wasn't anything that Sherlock did not already know. An incident at Alice's bachelorette party had almost caused the entire wedding to come to shambles, and had resulted in a very-real threat - Mummy had been one-hundred percent in her conviction to disown her disobedient, rebellious elder son. It had been a scare tactic, to try and force an end to the relationship. Alice had never forgiven her for it.

Alice had never told Sherlock what had happened at the bachelorette party - Mycroft's had been a rather dull evening in the Holmes' library, sipping tea and pouring over books whilst contemplating the meaning of such words as 'forever', 'love', and 'happiness'. But she'd come to the church with a blackened eye and a bloody cheek, her breath reeking of alcohol. But she wasn't drunk. At least, not anymore. When she'd arrived at the church, she'd been bawling her eyes out... and she hadn't been any better off two-and-a-half hours later when Sherlock had finally tracked her down...

_"Alice... Alice?" He knocked on the door, not wanting to stumble upon his future sister-in-law in a compromising position. "Can I come in?"_

_"Go away!" Something crashed against the door, and Sherlock recognized that sound of glass shattering. A prized porcelain vase, then._

_Sherlock didn't listen. He'd never been so glad to have disobeyed her orders in his life. Opening the door, he stormed inside, finding the bride-to-be curled into a ball on the floor, dress in tatters around her. She'd torn it in a fit of rage, he'd later discover. Her face was bloody and swollen and streaked with fresh, salty tears. She looked a mess - it had to be heartbreaking for all of that hard work from earlier that morning to fall to shambles. She was clawing at the floor, her fingernails cracked to bloody stubs. Shards of glass lay all around her, some tangling in her hair, but she didn't seem to notice... or care._

_"Alice! Alice, what happened?" He knelt down, not caring for the shards that cut into his knees. Scooping her up, he held her tight, trying his best to keep her from lashing out, "Come on, I'll help you clean up your face..."_

_He retrieved a washcloth and soaked it in warm water, before tenderly pressing it to her wounded cheek. She flinched, but didn't say a word. It wasn't until he wrung out the bloody cloth that she whispered, "I can't marry him."_

_"Hmm?" A pause, then it sunk in, what she had said, "You can't be serious, Alice. Everyone is down there, waiting!"_

_"L-Look at me." She laughed, but it was dark and broken. "I'm just a classless bitch."_

_"Alice..."_

_"That's what she told me, you know." Alice whispered disgustedly. "That... what happened at the party... it was an utterly classless thing to do, but she expected no less from an utterly classless woman." And she broke down into sobs again._

_"Oh, Alice..."_

_He cleaned her up as best he could, but her current condition didn't really allow for an intensive fix. He chanced a look at the clock. They'd be playing the bridal march right about now. Not only were they down the bride, but also the best man. The dulcet sound of the organ only forced more tears from her eyes. Sherlock was at a loss for what to do. Blood soaked his hands and some had gotten onto his tux, he had a crazed bride-to-be on his hands, and was at a loss for how to solve either dilemma. And he was quickly running out of time to come up with said solution._

_"I can't... I can't marry him." She was up off the chair, rushing toward the door. "I can't... It's only been a month, he won't care... He deserves better... I must... I have to leave." She ran out the door, tattered dress flying out behind her._

_"Alice - Alice, wait!" But it was too late. Alice was already gone._

* * *

><p>"Mr. Watson, Ms. Morstan... it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance once again." Alice said smoothly, taking Sherlock's hand as she carefully exited the cab. She had effortlessly fallen into the role of Mycroft's glamorous, albeit 'secret', wife. "I hear that the tea at this café is to <em>die<em> for."

"Oh, please, the pleasure is ours." John waved her off, not wanting to have this become a meeting of excess blandishments.

The drama from the cab momentarily forgotten, Alice spun around to face Sherlock, grin stretched taut across her face and showing off her deeply set dimples. "Well, then. Shall we head in and get seated?"

They went in and were seated almost immediately. As it turned out, John and Mary were just about the only two in Scotland Yard that were unaware of Mycroft and Alice's relationship. They were seated at the best table - ironically, seated before the shop's large, circular window, overlooking the hustle and bustle of downtown London. Alice smiled wistfully. Staring out that window was a reminder of a calmer time, a time before marriage, life, and _work_ got in the way. It reminded her of the days when she and Sebastian had been happy, when she and Sherlock would come to the café to study for exams... when she met _him_.

The first round of drinks came and orders were placed for food. As the waiter walked off, Mary turned to Alice. "So, tell us about yourself."

"I'm not sure what all there is to tell. My life wasn't particularly fascinating before I met the Holmes family. I was the second of three children, estranged from my family for personal choices. I went to University on scholarship, where I met Sherlock... the rest, as they say, is history."

Mary didn't seem to be too terribly impressed. Her story was shaky, and there were holes large enough to drive a truck through them. Still, she pretended as if she had not noticed this, and asked, "When did you become interested in the piano?"

But Alice, who had purposefully baited her with a bland, cut-and-dry documentation of her life, raised an eyebrow at her lack of interest. "In the piano?" She hummed, looking around as if trying to conjure up a distant, faded memory. "Oh, I was probably six or seven at the time. I had a talent for it."

John smiled, nodding once, "Of the three words that Sherlock has said about you, he's assured me that he has the upmost faith in your talents."

At that, Alice actually _laughed_, "Sherlock _does_ have _such_ a way with words, doesn't he?"

"Oh yes, he's terribly eloquent when in the company of close friends or trusted companions. It's when he has to address large crowds of people that he becomes crass and..." he shrugged listlessly, "sometimes even vulgar."

"I do not!" Sherlock took umbrage at that.

John rolled his eyes. "Need I remind you of the 'Acceptance Speech that Wasn't', when Scotland Yard tried to award you a certificate for helping in the apprehension of that rapist? A young woman was ready to claw your eyes out!"

"I wouldn't say that she was ready to 'claw my eyes out'." Sherlock seemed to be immensely disturbed by that particular phrasing.

"I wouldn't call it 'vulgar'." Alice remedied. "Perhaps... uncouth. Maybe he'll fancy that one a little bit better."

A laugh was shared at the table by the three of them, and all of a sudden Sherlock had a sickly feeling that perhaps they were in cahoots, that they had somehow conspired against him... that all of this would blow up in his face in a similar manner to cheesy action movies - loud and slow, shot from three different angles to ensure maximum visibility and humiliation. But then, Alice's hand caught his knee under the table and squeezed, almost to the point of it being painful. She'd seen something. Something damning. It was the only explanation for what came out of her mouth next -

"I'm sure that Sherlock told you that he set Mycroft and I up at University. We've been together for seven years - a long time for _anyone_ to have to put up with a Holmes." Another laugh went around the table. "Still no children as of yet. What do you two think? Are you planning on having any kids?"

"No."

"Maybe someday."

Sherlock shot her a look out of the corner of his eye, but she ignored it for now. "I always wanted a little girl..." Alice trailed off, smiling. "Mycroft, of course, wants a boy. I think he'd be lost with that much estrogen running around the house." Something flashed in her eyes, then disappeared.

Mary took the bait. "What would you have named her?"

"Oh... something traditional. I'm real big on tradition, you know." She smiled. "Maybe Abigail... or Gail... or Rebecca... or Alyse... or perhaps even _Mary_. Mary is a very old name, you know. There is a lot of _history_ rooted behind it." There was no mistaking the hinting behind her tone.

Mary retreated quickly, realizing that she was coming a little too close to the fire. "Yes, there is."

The rest of the meeting went well, but there was a palpable tension between Alice and Mary. Alice had managed to force Mary's hand, and she had yielded a precious piece of information that was now privy to everyone... aside from John. Mary was pregnant, but not only that, she was also hiding a much larger secret. Something that had to do with her name. Sherlock was amazed at how much Alice had managed to discover in such a short period of time, when it had been weeks since he'd first met Mary and he'd yet to deduce any of it.

After another hour or so, brunch was over and they said their goodbyes. Alice was jumpy for several moments after they left. She fumbled in her clutch for her carton of cigarettes, almost dropped it, and then cracked it open and pulled out one of the long, thin sticks. But she was still trembling, and Sherlock had to light it for her. She took a long drag off of the cigarette, before reaching for Sherlock's hand and squeezing it as tightly as possible. That look had returned to her eyes, and Sherlock could read it now. It was fear.

Alice cocked her head to the side, brown curls tumbling in front of her face. "How is all of this going to end, Sherlock?"

"I don't know." He said softly, "I really don't know."


End file.
